


The First Year of Marriage

by CheerUpLovely



Series: OlicityBuzz [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Established Relationship, F/M, Marriage, inspired by buzzfeed, newlyweds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7725247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerUpLovely/pseuds/CheerUpLovely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So maybe it's not exactly what they expected, but it's still good, right? ...........RIGHT?</p><p>Inspired by the Buzzfeed article of the same title</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Year of Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the start of a brand new series Olicity Buzz, which is a collection of Olicity fics based on Buzzfeed articles. Crazy idea? Probably. But after a while of not really writing it's inspired it back in me to bring out the Olicity moments we don't always get to see.

_**This collection is brought to you by the wonderful Buzzfeed article:** _

#  [Just 23 Hilarious Tweets About The First Year Of Marriage](https://www.buzzfeed.com/alivelez/tweets-that-perfectly-sum-up-the-first-year-of-marriage?utm_term=.on7XA7rgq#.oxG8DB2xp)

 

**When you don’t recognise your own name anymore**

 

“It’s not working!” she growls out through gritted teeth as she slams her palm against the security system that she had set at her computer desk. It was a very complex combination of her birthday, Oliver’s birthday, the date of That Night in Bali, her initials, and the name of the dog they kept feeding in Positano. 

“What isn’t working?” Oliver asks, doubling back from where he was heading towards the salmon ladder.

“The password!” she huffs, slamming her fingers over the keys with a little too much force, only to clench her fists when she’s granted with the  _ password incorrect  _ screen for a third time.

“Are you sure you’re putting it in right?” he asks with a hesitance well warranted with how her head whips with a dangerous force to glare at him. “Sorry.”

He watches as her fingers fly over the keyboard again. 

_ 0531189-05161985-07072015-FMS--- _

He halted her with a small laugh, only earning another glare from her until he was shaking his head. “You set this up to be automatic with our details, right?”

“Of course, it’s self-updating,” she bites back. “I have better things to do now than-”

“Felicity...it’s your initials.”

She stares at him in confusion.

“Your initials are FMQ now,” he prompts her. “Remember that wonderful honeymoon we just got back from…”

 

\---

 

**When the honeymoon phase is in full force.**

 

“Felicity, we need to pack,” he groans reluctantly when her lips start another tempting path down his throat. It’s criminal the way she can control him with a mere swipe of her tongue against his pulse, but she knows all too well that’s the perfect way to get what she wants. 

Maybe he should have put something in the vows about that because right now, wearing those heels with literally nothing else and sucking on his collarbone is  _ not  _ helping them pack.

“Fe-li-ci-ty,” he purrs, dropping the shirt he’s been folding (terrible) for the last fifty-two seconds of her sensual assault. “Our flight leaves in three hours, we really need to--”

“But it’s our honeymoon,” she complains lightly, nipping at the same skin she’s been worshipping from the moment they made it to their hotel suite the previous night. 

“Not if we don’t make the flight,” he points out.

“But I want to fool around with my husband  _ and  _ make the flight,” she pouts.

“What was it you said about marriage being about compromise?” 

 

\---

**When people assume you have that baby fever.**

 

“I’m on the news.”

She sounds so bored by it. He puts away the last dish, drying his hands on a dishcloth as he moves to the back of the couch and leans over to see her. She’s been lying under the same blanket she’s carried around the house for three days. 

The blanket has been many things in those last seventy-two hours of semi-quarantine. It’s been a pillow beneath her head as she’s napped on the bathroom floor between bouts of vomiting. It’s been a cape she’s shrouded herself in as she shuffles into the kitchen in search of more juice. It’s been a source of comfort she’s wrapped herself around when the fever prevents her from lying beneath it. It’s been borderline more of a husband than he’s been the last few days.

Borderline. Not quite. He’s actually been an amazing husband since the Food Poisoning of 2017 started. They’re never eating from that Turkish place again, not with a reaction that almost had him redecorating the bathroom.

“Why are you on the news?” he asks with confusion lacing his tone, leaning his forearms on the back of the couch so he’s closer to her.

“Everyone thinks I’m pregnant.”

One arm slips, he almost punches himself in the face as a result. She’s far more laid back about the event given that a newsreader is animating photos of her of what she might look like heavily pregnant.

“Oh, relax, I’m not,” she assures him with a wave of her hand. “I went to the drug store yesterday and picked up something to settle my stomach and everyone assumes I was buying a pregnancy test.”

When he recovers, he frowns again. “You’ve thrown up twice today. What did you get? It clearly didn’t work.”

“Oh, it wasn’t for that,” she says calmly adjusting her position. “I can’t wait until the gossip mags enhance that photo and see that I was buying diarrhea relief pills.”

 

\----

 

**When your Mom has baby fever and is not subtle about it.**

 

“Was that my Mom on the phone?” she asks, half-concentrating as she lifts her legs for him to slide his back underneath her. 

They’re halfway through their Game of Thrones marathon, and she can’t quite give him her full attention when she’s pretty sure winter is finally coming and when they finally make it to bed she will be as well.

“Yeah,” Oliver replies with a comfortable groan as he regains his previous position, resuming the lazy stroke of her thigh as she presses play and they begin the episode again.

“What did she want this time?” she asks through a wide yawn. 

“A grandchild.”

“Ugh,” she huffs, stretching a little and throwing one arm over the back of the couch. “I thought we weren’t trying until after the holidays?”

“Yeah, but we don’t want to tell her that, remember?” he mumbles, before their attention is stolen back to the television once again.

 

\----

 

**When you just don’t get some traditions.**

 

“It’s staring at me.”

“You’re staring at it.”

This happens three times a week, on average, apart from one week of the month where Felicity takes it upon herself to look into the top section of the freezer several times a day at her ultimate goal.

“It wants me to eat it” she whines, actually - is she really? - stamping her foot a little with an impatient whine.

“You’re not eating it” he insists, calmly sipping his coffee as he waits for breakfast to finish.

She slams the freezer door shut, and she saunters over to the worktop beside him, lingering her fingers over his lower back as she gives him That Look. That damn Look that won him over into a server system in their guest room.

“You know, we could…”

“Felicity, we aren’t eating the cake,” he tells her one final time.

She glances back longingly at the freezer which houses the top tier of their wedding cake. “Then what was even the point of getting married?”


End file.
